


Like Ink

by CodaDelta



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Drug Dependency, Drug Use, Gen, Nightmares, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, light gore (not really), mentions of Jay, poor mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 08:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodaDelta/pseuds/CodaDelta
Summary: A night after the end of the series, Tim finds it hard to escape.





	Like Ink

The mask had been like ink- thick, clingy, and choking. Each time he pulled it away it felt as though a seam was bursting inside his skin, as if he were ripping its tendrils out of his pores rather than sliding off plastic. Although he remembered nothing of what happened while the mask was on, Tim could always remember the sickening, agonising pull. He had put it down to his new brand of meds at first; and really, swapping out visual hallucinations of a grotesque suited creature with elongated limbs and no eyes for a one-off sensation every few doses was a deal he was more than willing to take. He hadn't known where the mask had come from before he watched those videos, but rather just assumed it was from some Halloween party or a dumb college play. Maybe even a prop from Marble Hornets that had been abandoned in pursuit of refining Alex's 'vision'. He barely even remembered the project after so long, but something about it made him reluctant to do any more afterwards, even after Alex quit school. So he left the mask in his wardrobe and carried on with his life. Until Jay Merrick decided to fuck it up.  
He'd entered his life with his goddamn camera and half-baked lies and dragged that... thing right back to him. He supposed it wasn't Jay's fault really- although maybe if he'd let it all rest it wouldn't've come back  
Though it wasn't very nice of him, a punch to the face had been so immensely satisfying that he could've just walked away- he'd tried to walk away. And now they were dead. Both of them. 

The nightmare began as they always did, in his room in the hospital, much older than he ever had been whilst he was there. It was cold and dark, and a loud metallic thud was echoing throughout the room. It reverberated around his head as he stood. His knees were stiff and crunched loudly as if they were made of glass. He stretched his arms above his head. The thudding increased in volume as he moved, and he lowered a hand to his face as he felt a tug under his skin. His skin felt sticky under his skin, and as he pulled it away it stuck there. He looked down in slight horror, as he saw his fingers were coated in a thick black gunk.  
Tim began shaking his hand and rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to dislodge it, but it only balled together and slid under his nails. It burned like hell and a scream welled up in his throat as spots danced in front of his eyes. He stumbled towards the door, half blinded by the sudden, intense pain. He caught the doorframe and fell, gripping the wood with his clean hand and desperately trying to wipe the stuff off on his shirt. He could feel the stuff on his face moving. It crawled over his skin towards his nose and mouth, the skin underneath it fell as though it was being pulled taught, and he suddenly knew he would be suffocating in seconds if it managed to get there. He brought his hand to his face once again and tried frantically to wipe the stuff away from him. Suddenly, it felt hard under his fingers. The pain was gone, but his skin crawled.  
He got to his feet and walked out into the corridor. The paint was flaked off the walls. Footsteps reverberated off the walls, though they weren't his.  
"Jay?" His voice was hoarse. "Jay? I need your-" Suddenly a cough wracked his chest and he fell to his knees again. No no no no no, it can't be this. Not now. Jay's here, he's here, I can save him. I know this time. His thoughts were a scrambled mess as his chest heaved. Not again. I can't watch it again. Leave me alone and I'll take him away, we won't look for any of it anymore. Just fucking stop.  
A glob of the sticky black stuff tore itself from his throat as he continued to couch. "Jay..." He almost choked on the single syllable. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the wall for support. He stumbled along the corridor as he tried to just breathe. But no matter how far he walked, the walls never moved and he got no further. After what felt like an eternity he collapsed, and his hands hit cold stone. He looked down and saw it was polished, his reflection staring back at him, disheveled and bruised. The black ooze had moved to encircle his neck, but when he moved to peel it away, his hands were stuck to the floor. He looked up and saw it staring at him. It loomed over him, head cocked and impossibly long limbs dragging along behind it. Tim shook his head and tried to pull away, all his childhood fear stirring in his chest and quickly whipping up into a frenzy. He looked down, not wanting to see its face. But it was his own that startled him. It was the mask, glimmering like porcelain, his own eyes occluded in the depths of the black of the mask's own. He turned his head, and gagged, as he saw an angry red line, blistered in places, around its rim. It was burned to his face. It was burned to his fucking face. 

Tim screamed as he startled awake, slamming his head against the roof of his car. He twisted around and opened the door, heaving onto the asphalt of the lot where he'd parked barely half an hour earlier. He breathed heavily for a full five minutes, eyes squeezed shut as the world span. "Fuck." He muttered when he'd got his breath back. He fumbled around the backseat for his jacket. Finding the small orange bottle in his inside pocket, he popped the cap and dry swallowed three of the little white pills inside. He was nearly through the whole of this month's prescription, despite it only being the tenth. He'd be damned if he was going back to any kind of hospital, though, so reached for his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, steadfastly ignoring the little icon labeled 'Jay' and found the name he was looking for. His job hardly funded a prescription drug habit, but Tim had had enough of psychiatric hold by the time he was eleven. His hands shook as he texted the guy he'd barely known from college but who was more than happy to sell him Carbamazepine when he was short. When he was done he rested his head in his hands. He didn't know how long he could keep going like this, from pill to pill to three nights of sleep to working thirty six hours straight. His phone pinged and he looked down at the screen. A twitter notification. He frowned as he saw the name of the account: totheark.  
"What the fuck?"


End file.
